


All These Long Days

by Elvesliketrees



Series: Kink Meme Fills [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Captivity, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunions, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:19:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kink meme fill: Athos (or whomever you'd like) doesnt show up to his duties one day, and further investigation finds him to be missing without a trace. his friends hopelessly try to find a trail, outsiders suggest he deserted, the chances of him still being alive getting smaller and smaller, etc. He is missing for months, presumed dead by many, until finally they find him. Cue weepy painful reunion, all parties involved too weak with relief to restrain their emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All These Long Days

**Author's Note:**

> Another part of the fill series:) Warning for some descriptions of long captivity.

Deserter. Coward. Drunkard. That was what they called him, what was whispered in the court and amongst the Red Guards. His Athos, his lover, the light of d'Artagnan's world. No one talked about the fact that his apartment was abandoned, that he hadn't been seen for a day before being searched for, that nearly a month of frantic searching by his brothers had turned up nothing. d'Artagnan, Aramis, and Porthos hadn't wanted to give up, but Treville knew that Musketeers were required to do actual Musketeering. And so, with eyes that spoke of the sadness of a man who mourned for a son, he declared Athos dead. d'Artagnan had stood beside his two lovers and lowered an empty box into the ground. Aramis got quiet, no more teasing jokes, flirtatious promises. His beacon was gone, the man who lit up the night and guided him towards home. Porthos was angry, oh so angry, at first there hadn't been a day he didn't pick a fight with one Red Guard or another, growling as a silent Aramis patched him up. d'Artagnan was just tired, tired of moving forward and being strong, tired of looking at Porthos' bruises and Aramis' dead eyes. As they lay in bed that night, touching one another but drawing no comfort, d'Artagnan was done. "We have to move forward," he whispered. Porthos rolled over and looked at him surprisingly. "Athos wouldn't want this, he wouldn't want us falling apart because he was gone, we have to stick together for when he comes back," d'Artagnan said quietly. 

"Pup," Porthos whispered. 

"No, he's coming back, he has to-has to come back!" d'Artagnan whispered. Finally, the tears that he'd been holding in for appearances' sake, for Porthos, for Aramis, began to slide down his cheek. Arms encircled him, and a sob broke forth from his throat. 

"Shh, shh, we're here," Aramis whispered. 

"He can't be dead, he can't be dead," d'Artagnan repeated. 

"You were right, we-we can't go on like this, for our sake, and for 'is," Porthos rumbled quietly. They fell asleep like that, bundled together and taking comfort in one another's presence, and d'Artagnan grieved for the first time that night. Months passed, and they gradually accepted the fact that Athos was gone. The world, surprisingly, kept turning. Finally, there was the grey day an old man stepped quietly into the garrison, looking around warily. 

"Can I help you monsieur?" d'Artagnan asked. 

"Ye-yes, I would like to speak to your Captain regarding one Athos of the King's Musketeers," the man said quietly. Beside him, Porthos blanched and Aramis set down his cup heavily. 

"I will take you to see the Captain immediately," d'Artagnan said heavily. Silently, Porthos and Aramis got up to follow him and shut the door to the Captain's office. He stated his business, and the Captain immediately leaned forward. 

"I know that he's been gone for a good spell, monsieur, so I know that he's probably believed to be dead," the old man said quietly.

"Believed?" Treville breathed, "Speak plainly!"

"You see, I'm a stable master for the Comte de Veillon half a day's ride outside Paris. Many months back, Comte brought in a lone man, beaten bad, sayin' that he was a robber of some sort. We didn't know anythin' to believe otherwise, so we didn't say nothing as he took 'im down into the dungeons for questionin', told us he wanted to know the place the rest of the group camped at. He held 'im for a long time, and the other servants and I, we started gettin' suspicious. The law wasn't called in, and we could hear screams from down below! Then, I found this package, buried in the hay of the stable not two months back," the man said quietly. The man withdrew a cloth to reveal Athos' pauldron, doublet, hat, and bags. Treville's breath stuttered, and he ran a shaking hand across the leather. 

"Is he alive?" he rasped. 

"We snuck a maid in to see 'im last month, real careful like, and he said that he was Athos of the King's Musketeers and to get a message here right quick. He said that the Comte was spyin' for the Spanish, and that he'd captured 'im for information. A servant snuck into his rooms and copied some documents, you'll find 'em at the bottom of the package. Last I knew, he was alive, but in a bad state," the man said. 

"How long ago was he seen?" Treville demanded, reefing through the documents. 

"The maid who gives 'im food, I talked to 'er last week, and she said he wouldn't last much longer," the man said quietly, "I'm a good man, loyal, but me, nor the others, we aren't murderers."

"And for that, you have our absolute and profound thanks," Treville said, "Give him a good meal and some coins to pay his way back, I must attend the king. Monsieur, would you guide us to the estate?" The man nodded, and Treville donned his hat, gesturing for Porthos and Aramis to follow him. 

"Aramis and Porthos, get ten men ready to move out and clean out the infirmary, we'll need it," Treville instructed quietly, "We move out as soon as I get back from the palace." He arrived back, and the garrison was unleashed like a hurricane of vengeance for the one lost. They arrived at the estates, taking out the guards without a word, and dragging a spluttering Comte out of bed in his nightclothes. 

"Where is he?!" Porthos demanded. 

"I-I..." the Comte spluttered. 

"Best answer him, Porthos can get quite...violent when he's angry," Aramis said calmly. Amidst his splutters and demands and sobs, the Comte pointed them down a stair. They went down and found themselves in a hall, at the end of which was a chained door. Ripping the keys from the hands of the dead guard, Aramis bolted inside and immediately breathed out a sigh. 

"Oh Athos," he breathed, "Thank God! Athos, Athos can you here me?" Porthos barreled into the room, only to be confronted with the sight of Aramis kneeling over a figure huddled in the corner. "Oh he's so thin," Aramis breathed, "Porthos, your cloak, we must get him back to Paris!" Porthos ripped his cloak off his shoulders and immediately wrapped Athos in it, another appeared in his line of vision, and he saw d'Artagnan give him a weak smile before bellowing out into the hall of their success. Athos didn't stir as he was practically swaddled and cradled in Porthos' arms. 

"Please," came the soft plea, "No more, don't know anything, no more!" Aramis' eyes grew cold with fury, and he ran a hand through Athos' hair. 

"Athos, we're here, we're here my love, you're safe," Aramis whispered. 

"Yeah, trust me, you won't be leavin' our sight anytime soon," Porthos chuckled. Athos went still, and Aramis gave him a cursory check-over. 

"We have to get him to Paris and the infirmary, all of the main medical equipment is there," Aramis sighed. The ride back to Paris was a blur for Porthos, the only thing he really saw was Athos limp in his arms, and he prayed that they hadn't found him too late. 

\---

Athos twitched as warmth bit into his skin. What were they doing to him now, had he not suffered enough?! He gave a moan of protest at the treatment, not that they would care. 

"Keep him still Porthos, his nerves aren't going to like the water. d'Artagnan, keep getting that dirt off of him, I can't bandage dirty cuts! Athos, my love, can you here me, you need to open your eyes," Aramis instructed. Aramis, Aramis was here?! Athos blinked his heavy eyes open, only to close them immediately afterwards with a pained whimper. Bright light danced across his vision, and Aramis gave a soft sigh. Was it really Aramis, was he home?! Was this really a bath, was Porthos the warm presence behind him, was d'Artagnan the one guiding the beautifully soft cloth along his damaged skin, or was this another dream, meant only to torment him? "Porthos," Aramis said quietly, "I want you to get some bandages, the light is too bright for his eyes, he's been in the dark too long." Soft cloth was pressed delicately against his eyes, and he instantly clawed at it, not the blindfold, not that! 

"Easy now," came Porthos' voice, soft and comforting, "I need to bandage your eyes, I promise you'll feel better for it, we ain't gonna hurt you." The cloth was wrapped round his eyes a few times and tied behind his head gently. A kiss was pressed to his temple, and a hand massaged his shoulder. "Open your eyes, gotta see if I did it right," Porthos instructed quietly. Athos did as bid and sighed with relief when he was met with grey light, perfect for his abused eyes. 

"I'll take that as well done, sleep now Athos, we have you," Aramis whispered, and Athos slept. When he awoke next, it to a softly lit room with a fire crackling in the hearth. He was comfortable, more comfortable than he been in a long time. He closed his eyes again, relishing in the warmth and apparent safety that he was in. A hand was running through his hair, and his right hand was clasped in another's. A warm weight was settled against his legs, and it felt like he was practically mummified. He registered the quite conversation that was occurring. 

"We can't give up on 'im, he's just exhausted!" Porthos hissed, and hand in his hair tightened a little. 

"Porthos, he's been asleep for seven days, if we don't get some proper nourishment in him soon..." Aramis whispered.

"Don't say it, don't you fucking say it," Porthos growled, "He didn't give up for months, he'll not give up now, and I ain't gonna let you quit on 'im while he's still fightin'!" Porthos countered. 

"I'm not quitting on him, I'm only saying that we need to prepare for all possibilities!" Aramis hissed. Athos decided to intervene. Blinking un-bandaged eyes, he smiled at Porthos, who was wearing a fierce glare. He licked his lips and looked around at his room. He was covered with blankets, and bandages covered almost every inch of his body. He again licked dry lips and smiled. Porthos was running a hand through his hair once more, and Aramis was slumped in a chair and holding his hand. His heart lifted as he saw the Gascon's head pillowed on his thighs, dark rings around his eyes. Dark rings appeared to be a new fashion statement amongst his three lovers. Athos cleared his throat pointedly, and Porthos jumped almost a foot high as Aramis fairly dove forward. 

"Hello," he said quietly. 

"Oh thank God, oh Athos my love," Aramis said breathlessly. Porthos sat down next to him on the bed and felt his forehead. 

"He's warmer," Porthos whispered, "Do you want anything love?"

"Water?" he asked quietly, his mouth was so dry, and he winced at how pathetic he sounded. 

"Shh, you can have all the water you like. d'Artagnan, wake up, Athos would like some water!" Porthos said with a small smile. The boy shot up, beheld Athos' open eyes, and allowed a few tears of joy to run down his cheeks. Athos tried to conjure up some moisture in his mouth, and d'Artagnan fairly dove for the pitcher by the bed. Porthos brought him to rest against his chest and took the cup from d'Artagnan. "Sips now, you've been without for a while," he said quietly. Porthos brought the cup to his lips, and he only allowed a small sip before easing it away. Athos whimpered a little at the loss, but Porthos brought it back after a few moments. Aramis was clucking over his bandages, checking for infection and changing them as d'Artagnan assisted. Finally, the cup was drained, and Porthos set it back down. "Do you think you could eat?" he asked as Aramis rubbed salve onto his cuts. Athos' heart gave a leap at the prospect of food, and Porthos looked down at him in sympathy. 

"You probably won't finish it, but that's fine, as long as something's in your stomach," Aramis comforted from where he was attending to a rather large burn on Athos' chest. d'Artagnan brought over a steaming bowl on a tray, and Porthos lifted up the spoon. With a surge of familiar independence, Athos brought up his hands, and scowled at them when he realized they were splinted. 

"Bastards broke your fingers," d'Artagnan growled. 

"They'll heal with time," Aramis comforted as he continued with his work. 

"Just let us take care of you, you've done it for us," Porthos soothed. With a warm sigh, Athos settled back and allowed Porthos to bring the spoon to his mouth. After months of stale bread and rancid gruel, the broth was heaven itself. Porthos clasped his shoulder as he gave a satisfied moan at the taste. He only got about ten spoonfuls in before his stomach threatened rebellion. Porthos must have noticed his pale face, as he set the spoon back in the bowl and rubbed his back in comfort. "That's better than nothin' Athos, ya did well," he said quietly, "Get some rest, it seems that Aramis is done with your bandages." He was settled back against a veritable mound of pillows, and his eyes slowly drifted closed. When he woke, it was to soft whimpers coming from next to him. His eyes shot open, and he looked about. Porthos was settled on his right, an arm flung protectively over his chest, and Aramis was curled up at his feet and a little across his shins. He looked to his left, and saw that d'Artagnan was curled up along his side, whimpering. He ran a hand through the boy's hair as his tear-filled eyes eased open. 

"I am here, all is well," Athos whispered. With a smile, d'Artagnan shuffled closer and brought his head to Athos' shoulder. He was with them, they were with him, and all was right in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and feel free to let me know what you thought!


End file.
